"Dunsany, Lord - Idle Days On The Yann" - читать интересную книгу автора (Dunsany Lord)

could not have been brought from afar, and the captain knew
that it had not been there a year ago. We agreed that such
a beast could never have been killed by any assault of man,
and that the gate must have been a fallen tusk, and one
fallen near and recently. Therefore he decided that it were
better to flee at once; so he commanded, and the sailors
went to the sails, and others raised the anchor to the deck,
and just as the highest pinnacle of marble lost the last
rays of the sun we left Perdondaris, that famous city. And
night came down and cloaked Perdondaris and hid it from our
eyes, which as things have happened will never see it again;
for I have heard since that something swift and wonderful
has suddenly wrecked Perdondaris in a day -- towers, walls
and people.
And the night deepened over the River Yann, a night all
white with stars. And with the night there rose the
helmsman's song. As soon as he had prayed he began to sing
to cheer himself all through the lonely night. But first he
prayed, praying the helmsman's prayer. And this is what I
remember of it, rendered into English with a very feeble
equivalent of the rhythm that seemed so resonant in those
tropic nights.

To whatever god may hear.
Wherever there be sailors whether of river or sea:
whether their way be dark or whether through storm: whether
their peril be of beast or of rock: or from enemy lurking on
land or pursuing on sea: wherever the tiller is cold or the
helmsman stiff: wherever sailors sleep or helmsmen watch:
guard, guide and return us to the old land, that has known
us: to the far homes that we know.

To all the gods that are.
To whatever god may hear.

So he prayed, and there was silence. And the sailors
laid them down to rest for the night. The silence deepened,
and was only broken by the ripples of Yann that lightly
touched our prow. Sometimes some monster of the river
coughed.
Silence and ripples, ripples and silence again.
And then his loneliness came upon the helmsman, and he
began to sing. And he sang the market songs of Durl and
Duz, and the old dragon-legends of Belzoond.
Many a song he sang, telling to spacious and exotic Yann
the little tales and trifles of his city of Durl. And the
songs welled up over the black jungle and came into the
clear cold air above, and the great bands of stars that look
on Yann began to know the affairs of Durl and Duz, and of
the shepherds that dwelt in the fields between, and the